~ Having my way with Ulysses

Always passing, the stream of life

Who? Oh, it’s you. Float with me a little. Mmmmmmm. Nice womb of warmth under a bud of flesh. Floating around. A languid floating flower. Oh this stream of life. Round like a wheel. With spokes too. And life, it doubles up, it turns like a horseshoe. Never mind. You are too young to understand. Not like me. Float with me. In the stream of life we trace. Oh this womb of warmth is dearer thaaan them all.

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About Nowthenowhen

I am now and not then. Nothen. Death stilled them and me with them. Yet my now moves away away. From that time I make my sense of time. The stilled moment of death. Stop the moving now. Separate it from this moving now, this one here, you are looking at it, this now, not that now, this now. Did you see it? What you saw is gone. What is your now? In this now I cannot resurrect them. In a walled now (in finite now) no escape to them. Where is my shaded sundial? Tomorrow is a new day will be.